God of Lies
Loki’s heart stuttered, but he leant into the kiss, feeling Stark's warmth against his. He parted his mouth a little, feeling Stark gently bite at his lower lip. He’d been kissed before- one of his many skills, he would argue- but Stark had caught him by surprise and Norns, the man was good at this. He felt his cheeks warm, a sensation like sunlight dripping through his body. Loki had heard gossip of the king’s many love affairs- the famous Lady Virginia, Lady Van Dyne, his advisor Banner, Natalia Romanov and several others of his warriors. A hand tangled in Loki’s hair, and he couldn’t stop the small gasp that tore out of him. Stark didn’t force it, but even if Loki had wanted to pull away this was his job. And anyway, he was kind of enjoying himself. Stark’s hand ran slowly over his throat, and Loki was sure the other man could feel his pulse racing. The seconds seemed to last a lifetime, Loki’s mind racing in a hundred directions. Heat pooled in his stomach. He didn’t often feel physical affection strongly. He shouldn’t be feeling this, given the situation.
And then Stark pulled away, and Loki was almost sorry at the loss. He gave a wicked smile.
“More time for that later, huh darling?”
Loki went scarlet. That damn look again. He reminded himself of what he was- a hostage, a war prize, a spy- and inched closer. Like fuck was he giving Stark the last word on this.
“Oh, I don’t know. Seems like we should be getting all the practice we can.”
A low chuckle.
“I didn’t think you were the desperate type, Odinson. Too cold, too calculating. My very own ice prince. In more ways than one, I gather. I thought you would be more... frosty.”
A laugh snuck out of him. In the distance, across the rolling expanse of fields and forests, the outline of a city inched into view.
“Pathetic.” Loki scowled. “And they told me you were amusing.”
Stark’s hand tightened on his thigh- Loki hadn’t realised it was still there. Fingers traced circles in the thick fabric. Up, and up, and up, till Loki shivered as Stark’s hand brushed the inside of his hip. Another hand, under his chin, Stark’s finger pressing down on Loki’s lips, his nail digging slightly into the soft skin.
“I’m hilarious.”
Stark’s end of the bridge was only an hour’s ride from the Midgardian capital York, a city of gleaming rooftops and dew-laden pines. From there, the palace could be seen looming overhead. Where the Asgardian palace was a glittering mess of golden spires, Stark’s castle was 180 acres of imposing grey stone, towers and turrets punching the sky. Dark banners in red and gold hung draped from the walls, Stark’s stylised ‘A’ sigil painted again and again. The letter stood for Avengers- Stark's elite circle of warriors- rather than Anthony. At least, Loki hoped. He wouldn’t put it past Stark to be that egotistical. Weak sunlight filtered through, throwing shadows across the city. People stared at the royal carriage as it thundered through the wide cobbled streets, and Loki fought not shrink back into the shadows. He was a prince. He would soon be a queen. He outranked every gawking peasant in Midgard, and by tomorrow they would all be kneeling before him.
Just as he would be kneeling before Stark before long, his mind helpfully supplied.
He raised his head and stared icily out at the seas of wide eyes as they slowed, finally drawing to a halt outside the gates of Stark’s sprawling residence. Stony-faced guards stood to attention, nodding behind smooth silver helmets as Stark dismounted and silently offered Loki a hand.
A throng of people had gathered, and the clamour rose to a crescendo as the gates creaked open. Stark waved wildly, grinning and shouting to his people. Loki couldn’t quite make out the words; the chants of the crowd drowned out all intelligent thought. But he’d done this charade a hundred times in Asgard- he fixed a lazy smile on his face and inclined his head to the masses as they ascended the stone steps.
“Half breed foreigner!”
“Jotun traitor!”
Loki froze. Venomous shouts began to cut through the crowd’s noise from somewhere below. Stark’s face dropped, and with a low snarl he half-dragged them away as the iron gates clanged shut.
Loki himself wasn’t bothered much. Again, he’d had plenty of this in Asgard even as a prince, once the news of his parentage had been leaked. He just smiled wider, raising a single hand to acknowledge the yells. He’d decided long ago it was best not to let it bother him. After all, it didn’t matter what they were saying- they were still chanting his name.
A long street twisted through gardens and forest, the castle seeming small from so far away. The walk to the palace was silent, seemingly endless rows of guards on all sides, marching as one. Stark’s grip on his waist tightened, pulling them closer together as they entered under an ornate arch. A grand entrance hall spilled out before them, fires blazing in sconces on the walls, servants and guards slipping in and out of views in the passages and stairwells that led off from the chamber.
Loki knew what would be expected of him now. Thankfully Stark had no family to greet- his mother had died a while back, killed in an accident, and as of last month King Howard was six feet under. But there would be councillors, Avengers, members of the royal household to introduce himself to.
“Welcome home, darling.” Stark smiled and Loki felt some of the tightness in his chest ease, even if the expression was clearly forced. Home. It could be, maybe. Couldn’t be much less of a home than Asgard had been.
He was led up several sets of stairs, altogether too quickly for his liking. He caught only flashes of the rooms beyond, and almost wrenched himself out of Stark’s grip. He’d been hoping for a tour of the huge castle, to save himself the embarrassment of getting lost later on. And to scout for exits, treasuries, intel like that. For the place seemed massive, stretching on into the distance in a maze. He had managed to count at least six floors already.
Stark practically skidded to a halt outside a set of double doors, his crest carved into them.
“Your chambers, Odinson. Really, I shoulda got a servant to show you, but what can I say? I’m nothing if not devoted.”
Norns. Loki couldn’t help a small gasp tearing out of him. The rooms were extravagant, even compared to what he’d had as a prince back in Asgard. The bed, tucked away through another arch, seemed to stretch on for at least five metres, rich silk curtains dripping around it; a rounded huge bay window revealed the setting sun glinting across the forests and lakes of Stark’s estate; six or seven doors led off from the main room.
“This is... nice.”
The admission almost pained him, and he ground his teeth. Loki didn’t know what they’d been expecting- bland guest chambers sealed off from the sun, perhaps, or being dragged straight to Stark’s bed?
“Should hope so. Nicest rooms in the place- apart from mine, of course.”
Midgard was the richest of the realms, after all. Their stunning competition of trade skills and military ruthlessness allowed them to reap the benefits of both magic and technology from all over reality.
A thin splinter of hope began to worm its way through Loki. They were, after all, a person who could appreciate luxury. Stark had essentially bought him, trapping him in a forced marriage for the good of their kingdoms. Loki had every cause to hate him- but it was inevitable. They should have married years ago. Maybe this could be a good thing. Maybe, he thought, Stark could be a true ally.
That was, until a firm hand at his back shoved him none-too-gently forwards and the doors slammed shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing ominously. No. He had to be kidding.
“The fuck, Stark?” Loki snarled. He flicked a tendril of green seidr towards the keyhole, but it dissipated almost immediately. Warded. Shit. Trust Stark to have the most expensive imported enchantments.
“Apologies, Loki. Forgive me if I don’t quite trust the God of Lies, Thieves and general Fuckery in my home on the first day.”
“I am to be your wife!” He slammed a fist into the heavy wood to punctuate this statement, baring his teeth when the full force of his strength barely made a dent.
“I have staff, warriors, citizens to protect. And we haven’t yet sealed an agreement with Asgard, don’t forget. I know you were likely sent here as a spy as well as a bride. I commend you. We would have done the same. But I can’t let you roam around free until both the wedding papers and the treaty have been signed.”
Loki fumed silently. Trust Stark to be fucking right, too. He was meant to report back to Odin’s spymasters on anything noteworthy by sundown. Asgard wasn’t about to wander blindly into an alliance with no intel on their soon-to-be sister kingdom.
“Servants will come in the morning to prepare you for the wedding. I can have some food sent up now, if you’re hungry.”
“Go. To. HEL.”
Stark sighed softly.
“I want this to work, Loki. I really do.”
“Then let me out of this fancy fucking PRISON CELL, huh?”
"You know I can't do that."
Loki let his head thud against the door as Stark's retreating footsteps faded to nothing but echoes. The God of Tricks, played by his own betrothed. He rolled his eyes and snarled with frustration.